


Larmoyant

by Thief



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Dorian POV, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, sfw, не копировать не уточнив у автора
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thief/pseuds/Thief
Summary: “You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince(Aka some sadfic self-indulgent bs which was written entirely around a single line.)





	Larmoyant

The Herald of Andraste would live. Dorian learned this from the mages and surgeons at the same time as the rest of the Inner Circle, the announcement perversely cheerful as they complimented the cleanliness of the wound; the muscle and skin hung loosely but they were able to suture and bandage it despite the extensive scarring the Anchor had left. Everyone in the Inner Circle simultaneously released the breath of tension they had been holding. Dorian was the exception. Of all the people who had come to love and appreciate the Herald, Dorian should be happiest but that was such a fickle concept.  
  
Gaven shouldn’t have lost his arm at all. He was the least deserving of the agony dealt. All suffering Gaven experienced was unnecessary, _pointless_. Dorian could celebrate the fact that Gaven lived at all but how could he be happy knowing the price it had cost. He couldn’t, of course. The man was a chronic pessimist and he was well-aware of it. These thoughts spun in endless, tortuous circles in the mage’s mind, souring his mood in time.  
  
A breeze broke the pleasant warmth of day and Dorian lounged on a settee with a glass of wine in hand. There was little to do but to wait and drink. The Herald of Andraste was going to live but Gaven wasn’t coherent yet, freshly stitched up and drugged out of his mind from the loss of his left arm. Dorian predicted the worst when he did wake; the Exalted Council would put pressure on him to decide the future of the Inquisition regardless of where he was in recovery. Southern politics were unimpressive in contrast to his homeland, but he hated to think of Gaven taking on either in his current state, even if he managed with his usual dignity and witty sapor. The elven man had been a mess the last Dorian spoke to him. He choked out apologies for not telling Dorian that he knew he would die, crying his regrets for putting Dorian through despair, and Dorian’s heart broke seeing him in anguish. After witnessing that, there was no given Gaven could handle what the council would demand of him. He was strong, but he must have limits. Lost in churning thoughts, the man failed to notice the shadow of a ghost creeping up on him until a familiar melancholy voice interrupted him.  
  
“ _It was life that wretched, not our love, but I was never good at saying what I meant, was I?_ ” The voice narrated Dorian’s thoughts as though they were written on a page. “ _They called him ‘Inquisitor Lavellan’ when they talked about healing him. I wish they hadn’t._ ”  
  
“Yes. They barely knew him, but he must have hated it when they called him that,” Dorian replied, swirling the wine in his glass absentmindedly. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Cole, were you watching over our friend?”  
  
The spirit-boy nodded solemnly, “He does not know if they called him that, his mind was foggy, confused. They stripped off his armor and then his clothes. There was fresh blood on their fingers, and he was afraid, but they made him dull and tired so it wouldn’t hurt. I watched but I stayed out of the way.” Cole paused and then tilted his head, “Why haven’t you gone to see him?”  
  
“I’ve not your knack for going unnoticed,” Dorian answered with wry amusement, “and I certainly didn’t have the stomach to watch them fix him up either. Not him. How was he doing when you last saw him?”  
  
“ _What if I go to him and I can’t stand to look at him? What if I don’t know what to say? What_ will _I say? He was always the one with the right words, the one who took care of everyone._ Everyone. _Including me. I was never good at this. I’m such a coward_ ,” Cole muttered in a detached voice. “He’s in pain. He looked for you. They won’t stop you if you go now.”  
  
“No. That wouldn’t be a good idea. You _know_ why.”  
  
“But you’re wrong, he wants to see you. He’s scared,” Cole pleaded. His voice morphed into the pitched whine of another person, someone trapped and struggling through endless depths of misery. “ _How could Solas do this? He hurt so many people and all this time I thought he was my friend. He_ was _my friend. I couldn’t stop him. I can’t stop him. I can’t save them. My arm hurts still. I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt anymore. How much time has passed now? Where is Dorian? Did he leave for Tevinter? Why does it hurt? I didn’t get to say goodbye. It’s because I hurt him, it’s my fault, I did this. It hurts, it hurts—_ ”  
  
“Alright, that’s enough,” Dorian cut him off and stood up. “You’ve made your point, Cole. I’m going right now. Happy?”  
  
Cole’s pale eyes considered the space somewhere beyond Dorian’s, “Being there is enough, Dorian.”  
  
Dorian walked away without looking back; he hoped the spirit was right.  


* * *

 

The hall was empty and quiet. The door stood open just a crack. He averted his eyes and held his hand against the dark, grainy wood, and froze there for a long moment. Fear told him when he opened that door, he would see Gaven broken before him and the image would be burned into him. He had never seen the Inquisitor so low in all the years they had known each other. _Gaven was the strong one._

_  
_He drew in his breath and pushed on the door, stepping through the threshold as it swung easily and quietly away from him.  
  
The stench of the room assaulted him, and he was thankful he had taken in a lungful of clean air before he stepped into the accursed room. Sweat, blood, and astringent chemicals were a subtle, but palpable, flavor under the overwhelming cloud of incense and perfumes that had been used to cover it up. It was suitable to choke a man to death and Dorian’s anxiety was quickly shoved to the back of his mind as he quickly stepped towards the nearest window. He threw it open, letting the breeze off the Dales chase out the smoggy air. He exhaled, drew in another breath, and then noticed his sudden proximity to the bed.  
  
The mattress was massive and soft, eating up the entirety of Gaven’s form and making him appear incredibly small and helpless. Despite the display of his residual limb, swaddled in bandages and propped level, to Dorian’s great relief Gaven looked healthier than he had in days. His hair was still greasy and clung to his face, but his face was clean, and the dark circles that framed his eyes had softened. He could have been sleeping peacefully but his brows were drawn together, and Dorian saw his right hand clutching the bedding with intense ferocity; if he clenched his fingers any tighter, he would tear holes in the mattress.  
  
“Gaven? Did I wake you?”  
  
The elven man didn’t answer. Dorian approached the bed and sat at Gaven’s right hand, peering down at him. He remembered Gaven never slept well in beds, or alone, or in total silence. Growing up in a Dalish clan he was accustomed to bodies, noise, and activity at all hours, and even in his sleep he could discern an alarming sound from a normal one. He would let Dorian snore into his ears when they slept together at Skyhold and he always slept better on the road than he had in a proper bedroom. Dorian also knew he suffered from nightmares since the Conclave. It was hard to tell which problem plagued Gaven now by looking. Dorian reached out a hand to gently place on top of Gaven’s. He was warm. _He was alive_.  
  
Dorian gently sighed and worked the stiffness from Gaven’s fingers until the hand became loose and relaxed in his grasp and he was able to pull the elven man’s free of the bed. An old routine possessed the mage’s body and he seemed to move automatically, sliding into the bed next to Gaven and wrapping an arm around him so he could better pull him against his chest. The thoughtless motion caused Gaven to suck in a sharp breath as the shifting caused him pangs of discomfort, but he settled in close to Dorian in a familiar way. His exhalation shuddered out of him, but he nuzzled his head against Dorian’s chest and the tightness in his brows faded.  
  
“I know. Everything has gone wrong and you’re not doing well, but I’m here now.”  
  
Dorian brushed the hair from Gaven’s face and let his hand rest on his cheek. Lying there reminded him of all the nights they spent together in Skyhold. Some of them were quite fun, but the memories that came to him now were tender. He remembered sitting in Gaven’s bed with a book open in his lap, reading far too late into the night, and Gaven slept soundly next to him without complaint. Sometimes Gaven would fall asleep draped over Dorian as he studied. Occasionally he slept with his back lightly brushing Dorian’s arm. Dorian never thought much of it then, how simple and silly it was, but after everything that had transpired, he now appreciating how much he missed this.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Dorian whispered. “I know. Me. Saying the s-word. It would shock you to death if you were somewhat coherent. It was funny, thinking I might not have the words to talk to _you_ , of all people. I was afraid this would be difficult. Don’t laugh.”  
  
“I would never,” Gaven slurred, startling Dorian. When Dorian looked down, he could see Gaven had one bleary eye opened only enough for the mage to see the slightest sliver of gold.  
  
“ _Kaffas_ , you heard that bit How long have you been awake?”  
  
“A while,” Gaven answered. He was tired and weak. “Too long.”  
  
Dorian had no witty responses to this. He knew, but he could make this better now. This was why he had come after all.  
  
“If it doesn’t bother you, I was thinking of staying here a while,” Dorian said. “I’m so terribly busy, you know? It’s exhausting. I could use the nap.”  
  
Gaven didn’t respond this time and Dorian reached to pull the blankets securely around them. He settled in next to him, as close as they could physically be, and rested his cheek on the top of Gaven’s head. He listened to Gaven’s breathing slow as he sank into sleep, able to do so now that he could relax. Dorian understood now. This was enough.


End file.
